


Untitled

by JoMarr



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Daddy Issues, Gen, Hero Worship, Hunters & Hunting, Kink Bingo 2013, Snow and Ice, Temperature Play, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 11:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoMarr/pseuds/JoMarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>His moment of triumph was  interrupted as yet another cracking sound shot out directly overhead. He  jumped forward, escaping the raking extensions of the broken limb, but  he was not able to escape the thick pile of snow that fell with it. The  shower of white nearly knocked him to his knees.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> Nonsexual father/son relationship/angst

      Even underneath the sheltering mantle of the forest, the ground was covered with snow. Ice encased the bare branches in a thick, glistening armor. It was too heavy for some of the limbs to handle, and every now and then, a sharp report echoed through the forest as the weak branches gave way. Several had already done so near Arthur in his outing this morning.  
      The last branch had broken just as he was loosing his arrow at the stag that he had been stalking for the last hour. The stag had reared up and leaped forward, and even though he could see the bright red fletching of his arrow against the rusty color of the animal’s hide, he had feared that the shot had not been true, and had steeled himself for a long stalk where, in the best case scenario, he would have to slit the throat of the poor creature to end its pain. To his surprise, he found the stag not too far away; he thought he could hear its last breath sighing out as he approached it, as its pierced heart stopped beating.  
      His moment of triumph was interrupted as yet another cracking sound shot out directly overhead. He jumped forward, escaping the raking extensions of the broken limb, but he was not able to escape the thick pile of snow that fell with it. The shower of white nearly knocked him to his knees. Snow poured down the back of his neck, past the edges of his cloak and tunic and undershirt. He could feel it soaking into the cloth, and his hair, and chilling his skin. With a curse, he brushed off what he could, and set to dressing the animal.  
      By the time he was finished, his hands were shaking. The hot spill of blood and entrails provided only brief relief, and soon became yet another wet coating that slowly began to freeze on his skin as the wind picked up. Sweat gleamed briefly at his forehead and temples, engaging in a slow cycle of freezing, melting, sliding a bit further down his skin, and freezing again. In the cold breeze, the branches creaked alarmingly overhead.  
      Having lightened the stag as much as he could, he tied its limbs together and hoisted it atop his shoulders. Just in time, too, for it had begun to snow again. The weight of the stag’s body warmed his shoulders, but it was in a wet, musty sort of way, the same way that his torso warmed with sweat underneath his clothes and drenched him. From his thighs on down, it was a different story; he felt cold and clammy, where he could feel at all. Some of the damned snow had even gotten into his boots, and he could barely feel his own toes. At one point, he briefly lost his tracks where the fresh snow had covered them, and blundered into a thick snowdrift, miring himself to the waist in snow. Only his sheer, stubborn determination had enabled him to power through it to the other side, to where, thankfully, the still-unburied portion of his trail waited to guide him back to camp.  
      He could hear his father’s voice echoing through the trees, a clarion that called him in, at long last, to some semblance of warmth and civilization and safety. As he emerged at the edge of the clearing, Uther turned at the noise, and then wheeled completely around, his bright red cloak swirling around him. “Arthur! Where have you been?” As always, his tone was sharp with anger, and with worry, and perhaps a touch of embarrassment at having once more lost the iron control that he had always tried to exert over his son.  
      When Arthur had been younger, it had been easier to bend into that invisible iron grip, to always do what would please his father. Now, it was not so cut and dried. He had learned honor and discipline from Uther, yet now, when he tried to put them into practice, it seemed to cause discord between them.  
      And this morning, when he had sneaked off alone, without even his horse…he had known it would anger Uther. But he had to do it. For he was young, but he was also a man, and this was what men did.  
      And yet, as he lowered himself to one knee, and tilted his shoulders to let the stiffening body of the stag fall to the ground between Prince and King, he thought once again, _See what I’ve brought you, Father. Isn’t it magnificent? I couldn’t wait to show you…_  
      Please, please, let this offering give me honor in your eyes. Let this please you.  
      He looked up to see Uther’s gaze sweeping over the stag; not just over the size of its body, or the three tines that adorned each antler, but also over the neat slit down its belly, checking his work.  
      As usual, Uther’s face betrayed little pleasure. His sharp gaze rose to look at his son, to see the bedraggled hair, the sweat-streaked face, the sodden clothes. His chin gave a brief jut forward.  
      “Go change your clothes. Perhaps now you’ll start wearing some proper wool, like I keep telling you to.” And the King swept past him, already barking orders to the servants to get the stag in a state to carry the rest of the way home.  
      As he did so, his hand clapped down onto Arthur’s shoulder, gripping it in a clasp that was as firm as it was brief. And Arthur knew that his offering had been accepted.


End file.
